


Science Project

by CaptchaBlog



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, M/M, Shy Dave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:44:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptchaBlog/pseuds/CaptchaBlog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shy Dave admits he is cursed to observe his crush from afar until they are paired together for a project. Little does he know, the crush has a crush of his own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Science Project

**Author's Note:**

> A friend requested I write a story with a specific outline, but it's turning out to be longer than I thought it would *shrugs*
> 
> For iheartpkmn on tumblr :)
> 
> I'm writing this instead of my main fic halp.

The door opens smoothly in front of you and the room goes silent.

“Tardy yet again, Mr. Strider.”

You stand slack under door frame, hand still on the knob, peering into the room. All of the kids in the room turn to look at you. The worst thing about being late is the looks you get from everyone- they look at you like you just sprouted a second head.

You huff and slide out from the doorway, letting the door close with a click behind you. You can feel the gaze of the students on the back of your head as you approach the front of the room, but you ignore it. You hand the teacher your crumpled pink pass and give her your most bland expression.

“Anything to say, David?”

You shrug slightly. “Naaw.”

“I am going to ask you again, Strider: please remove your sunglasses. We do not permit the use of such eyewear during the school day.”

You run a hand through your short, blonde hair. “Nah, I think I’m gonna keep these on for now.”

She looks at the pass and back up at you with a defeated sigh. “Alright. Have a seat then.”

You spin on a heel and face the class.  
Why are they still staring at you? You put your head down and push your shades up to the bridge of your nose. You slink down one of the aisles, shoving your hands in your pockets. Some kids are whispering, but you tune it out.

The only open seat is in the second to last row. You make your way over to it and slide into it carefully. Once seated, you stare bleakly at the board and listen to the drone of the teacher’s voice.

You occasionally glance up at the clock, watching the minute hand crawl across the face. If only you could make time pass quicker. Kids are still looking back at you and whispering.

You know exactly what these kids are whispering about you. The think you’re the mysterious cool-kid who moved here from Texas at the beginning of the year. Girls swoon over you and guys want to be you. 

They think you’re so rebellious, showing up to classes late like this.

Many people had tried and failed becoming your friend. You’re the loner- you’re too cool for friends.

Actually, none of that is true. You put on the cool-kid façade because, well, you have to. Bro would kill you if he saw you going out in public without your shades or acting out of line. He told you that both are symbolic of the Strider men. You think it’s stupid, but you don’t want to risk upsetting him and getting your ass kicked in a strife.

As for the quiet part, you just don’t like to talk. You like being alone and observing.

You guess.

Ms. Whats-her-name is going on about photosynthesis but you can’t be bothered. You learned about that forever ago. Though you almost never take notes in class or do your homework, you’re actually pretty smart. You can teach yourself anything if you care enough.

Just another thing that makes you ‘soooo cool’.

You glance around to see who you’re sitting by today. The girl obnoxiously chewing gum to your right, the huge football player directly in front of you, and, uh. Uhm.

Oh. Him.

You glance to your left without turning your head. Next to you is that dark-haired boy in a plain white t-shirt and a green hoodie. He’s wearing black rimmed glasses that are too big for his face, as always. He’s staring intently at the teacher, writing down just about everything she says in his messy chicken-scratch handwriting. Sometimes, he sticks his tongue out in concentration.

You swallow almost audibly. You’ve never sat next to him before. You’d only ever watched him in the hallways…

Whoa, dude, no. You force your vision back forward. You’re not checking the guy out. No way. Not a homo.

You’re cautious to admit it, but this guy caught your attention a few weeks after you started here. He was the only one who hadn’t done everything in his power to impress you. In fact, you don’t think he’s ever said hello to you.

It’s not that you’re jealous or upset that he hasn’t talked to you- you’re just intrigued as to why he’s not like the others here.

As the period drones on you find yourself looking back to him. You notice the little things he does: like whenever he gets stumped on a problem, he bites the eraser of his pencil. 

At one point he stretches his arms back and turns to face you. You panic and flick your eyesight forwards again, even though he can’t see you behind the dark shades.

He may or may not have smiled at you. You don’t know and try not to think about it.

“Alrighty, then kids,” the teacher grins, “Everything off your desks.”

The kids around you groan as they shuffle their papers into the folders and shove them into their backpacks. You never had anything out in the first place, so you just sit and watch.

The teacher stops in front of each row, passing out the pop-quiz. Eventually, everyone has one and they all get working.

You stare down at the paper in front of you. You know this. This shit’s easy.

You just don’t have a goddamn pencil.

You curse internally for leaving your backpack at home. (What can you say? You forgot. You always forget. It would have been a miracle if you HAD remembered.)

You reluctantly turn and look at the mystery kid. He’s scratching down his answers, grinning to himself.

“Dude,” you whisper quietly. He doesn’t turn.

“DUDE,” you whisper a little louder. Still no reaction.

You tear off the corner of your quiz and crush it into a tiny ball. You fling it at him and it hits the side of his glasses.

His writing stalls and his grin fades. He turns his head slowly and looks at you.

His gaze is like blue electricity.

“Oh, hi Dave!” he mouths to you, looking a little confused.

You curse yourself because damn, he’s cute. Plus he knows your name. But again, you’re not a homo. Seriously.

“Pencil,” you mouth to him silently.

His eyebrows furrow together. “What?” he mouths back.

You mime writing with a pencil and shrug. Realization lights his face and he mouths an ‘oh’. He reaches into his bag next to him and hands you one.

“Thanks,” you whisper lightly and face your desk. He laughs lightly and continues on his.

He finishes his quiz way before you. He puts his pencil down on his desk lightly and stands, straightening out his hoodie. Then he walks up the aisle to hand it in.

He’s about the same height as you, and just as skinny. He trips once on the way up. He’s kind of a klutz, and you can’t help but hide a smirk as he apologizes to the girl he almost landed on. He finally makes it up to the desk, and talks to the teacher for a bit while he hands it to her, their voices hushed while the rest of the class finishes their quizzes.

Well, everyone except you. You’re still staring at him.

The teacher hands him a piece of paper. 

Suddenly, he turns back around and heads back to his desk, making sure to step over everyone’s belongings and not trip again.  
When he gets back to his desk he doesn’t sit- he stands next to it for a while, reading the paper. His back is to you.

You’re still sneaking looks at him when you realize-

You’re… you’re checking out this kid’s ass.

No. Nononononono. Your face turns bright red and you hunch over to stare down at your almost finished test. You finish scribbling your answers and hastily bring it to the front of the room, pushing all thoughts of him out of your head.

The teacher hands you the paper in exchange for your quiz. She gives one to everyone.

Once everyone finishes and settles back in their seats, she announces that the midterm grade for the year is going to be a partner lab, dealing with photosynthesis. Everyone groans, but she continues on, saying that it is due a month from now.

She picks up the attendance clipboard and starts at the top.

“Ampora? Please pick a number and I will assign you a partner. One through twenty-six.”

“One!” you hear him call out after a pause.

“You’re number one on the list, dumbass,” you hear someone call from across the room.

“Oh,” you hear his voice stall, “then seven!”

The teacher counts down the list. “You are partners with one Captor, Sollux.”

He curses, loudly.

The teacher continues down the list, calling the students in alphabetical order. When they choose a number, she writes it on the board so it can’t be chosen again.

“Egbert!” she calls. The boy next to you straightens up.

“Oh, what?” he sputters. The class laughs and the teacher shakes her head in amusement.

“Choose a number, John.”

John. Huh.

“Oh,” he looks down at the desk. “Uhhh… nineteen.”

The teacher looks down at the list and counts. Her eyebrows furrow in sympathy.

“John, you’re partners with Strider. Ok?”

The blood drains from your face and you can feel your heart jump into your throat.

You turn and look at him coolly though, only to find him smiling right at you.

“Yeah, that’s cool!” he tells her, never looking away from you, always smiling.

When the bell rings, John asks you to stay behind.

“So,” he begins, taking out a sheet of paper, “Lab partners, huh?”

You nod tersely.

“Alright then,” he tears the paper in half and gives one half to you, along with a pen, “write down your chum handle and we can talk about meeting up at some point over the weekend to get a start on it.”

Without a word, you pick up the pen and scrawl your handle on the paper, ‘turntechGodhead’.

He finishes writing on his and folds it, handing it to you.

“Awesome,” he grins as he exchanges papers with you. He stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. “See you then, Dave. I’ve got so many ideas as to what we can work on. I’ll tell you later, ok?”

With a smile and a wave, he’s out the door. 

You stay in your seat, staring after him.  
What the hell just happened? Why didn’t you say anything?

You shake your head in disappointment and open the paper in front of you.

Scribbled in blue pen is ‘ectoBiologist’.

You fold it up again and slip it into your jeans pocket. You carefully stand and make for the door.

You can’t tell whether you’re happy or anxious, but all that matters is you now have the cute kid’s chum handle.


End file.
